by Donya Lynne
She didn’t need to think about that. Not right now. They both needed this. They needed each other. They’d both lost so much. Too much. In their own way, each needed to know that they still existed in a primordial world. That they could still experience desire. That life hadn’t completely abandoned them.
“Please . . . yes . . .” she murmured between kisses, barely able to find her voice.
He was inside her in one savage thrust.
She cried out from the brute invasion, wrapping her slender arms around his shoulders and gripping him with every ounce of strength she could muster. His length and girth filled her perfectly, applying pressure in every way her body needed to find release.
Groaning long and low as the base of his cock slammed home, he paused for only a moment, then rocked his hips backward. His cock retreated almost completely before he slammed his hips forward again, plunging deep, as if he, too, needed a moment to feel what he’d been missing for far too long.
Then it became a race to the finish as he bucked against her, grunting harshly, burying his body against hers as he became the most basic essence of man. Pure, unbridled, uncivilized, turbulent need, rutting furiously to plant within her what all males of every species had been driven to sow since the dawn of time.
The sex was fast, furious, punishing. But she didn’t need moonlight and roses. She needed to feel. She needed to be shredded and laid bare, emotionally and psychologically stripped of anything her ex had left behind, his imprint replaced by another more able man. A real man. One who stuck out the tough times not because he had vowed to, but because his character demanded it. A man of integrity. A man who understood that love wasn’t some superficial proclamation you made when things were going well, then abandoned at the first sign of trouble. A man who believed that love didn’t take a free pass when the going got tough, but instead doubled down and guarded the object of his affection like a lion defending the pride.
Paul was such a man. She could feel it in her bones. Not just because of how endearingly he talked about his late wife, or how he’d reacted protectively toward her when he’d thought her ex had cheated on her, or even how he’d taken care of her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. There was a comforting aura around him. One that made her feel safe.
Paul was one of the good ones.
“Fuck, fuck!” He braced his hand against the arm of the couch, shifting into a higher gear as he claimed her with the ferocity of a caveman marking his female.
She dug her blunt fingernails into his back, swept away on a sea of sensations she hadn’t felt since long before her divorce. Pleasure. Pure, uncontrollable, unrestrained pleasure.
Her muscles contracted and coiled, preparing to sing his praises in a silent cry to the heavens.
“Paul . . .” She held him more tightly, gasping as she tucked her face against the side of his neck.
Almost there. She was almost there. Tears broke in her eyes as her whole body tightened. Too long, it had been too long, but Paul had this. He had her. And he was about to show her what real men were capable of.
“Paul . . . God . . . now . . .” She gasped as her climax rose on a tidal wave. “Now . . . now!”
She threw her head back and cried out as pleasure ripped through her at the same instant his body seized, his hips plunging between her thighs one last time with such force that she slid backward at least six inches. The top of her head crashed into the cushioned arm of the couch beside his hand as wave after wave of pleasure ricocheted through her.
A long, carnal growl broke from his throat as his hips pumped with every pulse of his cock as it emptied inside her.
It was only then, as she felt the heat gushing into her as he continued coming, that she realized neither had stopped to even consider a condom.
The same realization seemed to hit him a few seconds later.
He froze and sucked in his breath, then slowly drew his head up from where he’d buried it against her shoulder and locked eyes with her. He appeared more than a little mortified.
“Omigod . . .” he murmured, still breathing hard. A bead of perspiration slid down his temple. “I’m sorry . . . I . . .” He abruptly pulled out and lifted himself off her.
What had been wonderful and perfect only moments ago suddenly felt awkward and alien, like the two of them had been briefly possessed and, now that they were coming back to their senses, left them confounded at what they’d done.
“No, no”—she quickly sat up and yanked her pajama pants back on before fumbling to rebutton her shirt—“I’m sorry. I never should have . . .” Never should have what? Had the best sex of her life? Given him Reiki? Completely blown her professionalism over one searing kiss. Yes, that was it. That was what she shouldn’t have done, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
She almost tripped as she practically leaped off the couch, getting her feet tangled in the pant legs hanging off her toes. She plopped back onto the edge of the cushions and briskly rolled up the hems and stood again, looking around the room like she was lost. “Um, I, uh . . .” She pointed toward the stairs. “I think I’m gonna”—she sidestepped past him—“just go to bed.”
“Yeah, okay . . .” He kept his eyes downcast, nodding more to himself than to her as he finished pulling his jeans back into place and fastening them. “I think I’ll be heading that way soon myself.” He sounded more than a little distracted.
She didn’t say good night or wait for him to say it either. She rushed up the stairs, past the picture of him and Sarah smiling on the beach, to the palatial bedroom he’d set her up in.
Once inside, she slammed the door, yanked down the covers, and jumped into bed as if that were all she needed to do to fall asleep and forget they had ever done what they did.
Slapping her hands over her face, she squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. “Oh my God, omigod, omigod. Oh. My. God.” She’d had sex with another woman’s husband. Did it matter that she was deceased? No. Hell, no! Because it was clear that in Paul’s mind, they were still married.
If she believed hell existed, there would surely be a room reserved for her there next to Satan’s house after what she’d just done.
What had she been thinking, having sex with a widower who was still mourning his wife while she’d been wearing the woman’s pajamas?
She hadn’t been thinking. That was the problem. She’d been feeling. Living. Experiencing all that she had missed since before she and Craig had even considered filing for divorce.
When was the last time a man had touched her the way Paul had tonight? With desire. With intention, longing, and need. Craig certainly hadn’t touched her that way . . . not for the last two years of their marriage.
Was it any wonder she’d given in so easily tonight? Should it have been so surprising that she would respond with such eagerness to a handsome man like Paul looking at her like he wanted her? Really wanted her? Because for the last year of their marriage, the only emotions Craig had shown when he looked at her were resentment, blame, and contempt, with a pinch of disgust.
She was as emotionally and energetically starved as Paul had been, and no amount of self-Reiki, meditation, or daily affirmations had eased her starvation.
Hell, she hadn’t even known she was hungry. Not until Paul had placed himself in front of her like an irresistible slice of red velvet cake. By then, it was too late. All she had wanted was to keep dessert coming. More, more, more! Because when you’ve been in a desert for so long that you forgot what the ocean looked like, you eventually stopped missing it until you climbed to the top of a sand dune and saw vibrant blue water stretching to the horizon. Then you rushed headlong into it without worrying about the hungry sharks swimming in the shallows, the jellyfish floating on the surface waiting to sting you, or the undercurrents that could drag you under and never let you come back up. All that mattered was the feel of cool, refreshing water rinsing away several years’ worth of dust.
Twenty minutes passed before she hear
d his heavily burdened steps approach in the hall. They slowed as they neared her door, then quickened purposefully to the end, where a door opened and then closed a few seconds later.
Journey continued to lie under layers of exquisite bedding that had to have cost thousands of dollars, her head nestled into a pillow so fluffy and soft it was like a cloud. But she couldn’t get comfortable. Instead, she stared restlessly up at the ceiling. Her thoughts raced as she replayed what she and Paul had done, from the moment she had opened her eyes to find him staring at her until the moment they climaxed together. Then she replayed them. And again.
She couldn’t stop feeling the heaviness of his body crushed against hers. Couldn’t stop feeling the way his muscles bunched and flexed beneath her arms. Couldn’t stop hearing the long, gratified growl roll endlessly from his throat as he came inside her.
He came inside me.
She placed her hand on her stomach, praying that the doctors had been wrong about her barren womb, but knowing that the odds were stacked against her.
A tender smile touched her lips as she shifted onto her side and looked out the window at the falling snow. She had enjoyed herself with him. She barely knew him, didn’t even know his real name, and yet, she felt like they’d known each other for lifetimes.
She had never understood when other people said that. I feel like I’ve known him forever. Until tonight, she’d thought people who said stuff like that were a little whacky, because really, how was that possible?
Now she knew. Now, she understood. Because she did feel like she had known Paul for a lot longer than only a few hours.
An hour had passed since she’d heard him in the hallway, but something told her he was nowhere near falling asleep. Just like she was, he was probably lying in bed appalled by how much he had enjoyed having sex with her.
Throwing back the covers, she slipped from the bed, quietly opened the bedroom door to a darkened hallway lit by a single night-light, then tiptoed to the bedroom at the end. His room. Gently turning the knob, she peered inside. If she’d thought her bedroom was nice, his was beyond compare.
He was in bed, lying on his side, facing away from her.
She stepped inside, causing one of the floorboards to creak.
Turning over, he lifted onto his elbow, appearing only slightly startled but not surprised to see her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice soft.
“Hey.”
Silence.
He sat up. “Everything okay?”
She could tell that he knew why she was there.
“No.” She slowly approached the bed, watching for any sign that he didn’t want the same thing she did.
He gave her none.
Stopping a few inches from the edge of the bed, she pushed the elastic waist of her pajama pants off her hips, letting the heavy cotton fall to the floor as cool air washed over her legs.
She dropped onto the bed and knee-walked toward him, unbuttoning the shirt.
His gaze followed her fingers down the placket, then skimmed back up the sliver of bared skin to her face.
Stopping beside him, she sat back on her feet and parted the two halves of the shirt, revealing herself to him.
Neither of them spoke. She simply sat there, hands resting on her thighs like an acolyte awaiting benediction, allowing him to look at her, waiting for him to either accept her invitation or turn her away. Except for his eyes, which took the time to admire all he’d been too rushed to see earlier, as well as the deepening rise and fall of his chest, he remained as still as a statue.
After what felt like minutes rather than seconds, he lifted his hand to the open collar resting on her shoulder. His fingers briefly played over the material as if he were remembering another time when another woman wore these pajamas, then he gently brushed the fabric off her shoulder and down her arm, fully exposing her breast.
Swallowing against her rising arousal, she released a shaky exhale. “I’m not sorry,” she whispered, searching his eyes. “I’m not sorry about what we did.”
The backs of his fingers caressed the inner swell of her breast as he took in her skin with the kind of fascination someone wears when watching the last slice of the moon disappear during a lunar eclipse.
“Neither am I,” he said, his voice low. His eyes flicked up to meet hers.
With a sense of wonder and anticipation, they stared at each other in the darkness, seductively secret smiles creeping over their faces.
She pushed forward on her knees at the same moment he took her arm and pulled her on top of him, lying back on a mountain of pillows as she flung one leg over his body and straddled his hips.
His fingers threaded through strands of her hair as he gazed into her eyes. “I didn’t wear a condom,” he said, stating the obvious.
She whipped the pajama shirt off and flung it to the side. “I know.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry.”
“But—”
“I can’t get pregnant, remember?”
His eyes searched hers in the darkness. “There are other reasons to wear a condom.”
“I know, but . . .” She blinked and lowered her gaze. “I haven’t been with a man since my divorce.” Admitting it out loud was like unburdening her soul of every last shred of emotional baggage that had clung to her since Craig walked out of her life. “There’s been no one for almost eight years.” She met his gaze again, wanting to tell him that she knew the same was true of him but knowing he needed to be the one to say it.
His fingers stroked her hair, sweeping it back, his thumb caressing her brow below the bandage he’d doctored her up with hours ago.
Licking his lips, he swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob heavily.
Then he looked deep into her eyes, his own eyes glistening, and said, “There’s been no one else for me either. Not since . . .” He blinked, averted his gaze, looked back at her. “Not since Sarah.” His voice broke on her name, but he managed to keep his tears from falling. Then he raised his chin and cupped her face with one large, tender, callused palm. “Not until tonight. Not until you.”
She exhaled long and completely, her body sagging forward. She wasn’t sure why, but hearing him tell her she was the first woman he’d been with since his wife died felt reassuring and gave her hope that she wasn’t doomed to be alone for the rest of her life. If she could make this kind of connection with Paul after only a few hours, surely she could find a man in the city who would want to make her the sun, moon, and stars of his life.
“Be with me,” she whispered, taking his hand and placing it over her breast, holding it there with both of hers. “Be with me now. Help me feel again.”
He tipped her head back with his free hand, letting his eyes dance between hers. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
She grinned and rose onto all fours so she could push back the covers and find, much to her delight, that he slept in the nude and was already fully erect. “We can help each other.”
He nodded and shifted, sinking more deeply onto the bed, taking her with him. “I can do that.”
Gripping her bottom, he pulled her up the hard length of his cock, lifted his hips, and slid home.
She’d always been self-conscious about being on top. Craig had never been able to come with her on top. He’d complained that she wasn’t active enough or rough enough or something.
But Paul seemed more than pleased with her sensuous pace, the way she rotated her hips, and ground her clit against his pubic bone while rocking in shallow thrusts.
He moaned with every exhale. His large, thick fingers forcefully squeezed her thighs as if she were driving him crazy. Pure fire filled his gaze as he looked up at her. Maybe Craig hadn’t liked a slower, more purposeful pace, but Paul was eating it up.
His response to her less exuberant style boosted her confidence, and she began riding him a little harder, taking a little more control, rotating her hips a little more enthusiastically.
&n
bsp; When he rolled his head back on his pillow, neck straining, and mouth agape as he gasped up at the ceiling and began rocking his hips beneath her, she knew that her problems with Craig had never been her problems. She and Craig had been different people who were simply out of sync when it came to sex.
But she and Paul? They were a perfect match.
Her body stroked him forward and back in long, smooth glides, taking him deep, then retreating to the last inch before engulfing him again.
“Jesus, Sarah!” He growled from between clenched teeth.
It didn’t matter that he’d said his late wife’s name instead of hers. Journey knew the score. He didn’t need to call out her name during sex for her to enjoy it. After she left his cabin, she would never see him again anyway. Love and forever and till death do we part weren’t part of what was happening between them. That had never been her plan. He was bringing her back to life when she hadn’t even known she required resuscitation. End of story. If all he needed was a temporary surrogate to fill Sarah’s shoes, she was happy to oblige.
Leaning back and supporting herself by bracing her hands on his thighs, she changed the angle in a way that made her see stars and sent her body into overdrive.
Her hips took over, moving with the carnal memory of her DNA, grinding forward and back, faster, harder, with ruthless determination.
A string of curses rushed from Paul’s throat, rising in pitch and intensity as his whole body tightened and his hands put her hips in a death grip.
“FUCK!” He jackknifed off the bed as the first orgasmic spasm slammed into him, clamping his arms around her and crushing her to him as her own body released in an explosion of pleasure.
Muscles pulsed and shuddered as they held each other, her insides sucking down what his cock gave her. Once again, he filled her with seeds that would never take root inside her infertile womb.
And yet, knowing she was as arid as the Mojave Desert didn’t seem to bother her as much now. She felt alive. Paul had given her life. And right now, that was enough.